Remembrance
by KnowledgeandImagination
Summary: November 11th. Canada stands before the National War Memorial in Ottawa and observes the Remembrance Day ceremony. Written to honour the often forgotten contributions from Canada.


_This is my first time posting in this fandom. I hope you will forgive any spelling, grammar, or characterization mistakes. Please be gentle and don't flame me!_

_It's Remembrance Day here in Canada, and I wanted to write something for it, especially for Canada, who's always so forgotten. I also apologize for any confusion as to what's happening. It was sort of intentional, as Canada isn't really focused at the moment. _

* * *

**Remembrance**

The trumpet sounds broke through the morning air. The Last Stand.

And he stood straighter. A chilly wind blows through the crowd, making his hair tremble. Or perhaps it was the onslaught of memories this brought back. A blood red poppy rests on his chest, and upon the chests of all the people gathered.

A canon fires, and the bells toll. He bows his head with everyone else, and through his mind memories of every war he'd fought passes through. He sees the faces of all the people lost, hears the screams, gunfire, sees the smoke of the battlefield.

He remembers the yellow gas ad Ypres. Only his status as a country had saved him. He'd hated that fact as he crawled over all his fallen comrades, some with trench foot, others with lungs already burned beyond repair. The shell-shocked stared forward blankly, blood spilling down their ears.

He remembers Vimy Ridge, remembers charging forward, face set with determination, shooting at the enemy, trying to help his people. Despite the losses, he couldn't help but feel a sense of pride. _It was _our _country's efforts that helped win that one. _

He remembers Passchendaele, crawling through the mires. He remembers keeping close to General Currie, hearing the man's hopes that his soldiers would survive. He remembers those that were stuck in the quagmires, and remembers doubling back to help pull them up.

The moment of silence is too short, and all too soon he hears "the Rouse."

Still, his memories go on. The memories of World War II come to mind. Despite not being in the thick of things, he was always there whenever possible, fighting with his people. The devastating pictures of Dieppe pass through his mind. All those bodies... he'd run, trying to save as many as possible, while his people bled out right before him. He gritted his teeth against the pain that ripped through him as he relived that day.

And then, last of all, D-day. Juno Beach.

It was supposed to be a day of victory, and he had pride in it. But still, he felt the pain of the fallen, the blood that stained the water, the screams, the canons, the guns...

It didn't matter that no one remembered his country's contributions. He would, and he would remember every single battle. Though he stood with the young soldiers in this moment, in his heart, he could feel himself standing with the aging veterans.

_In Flanders fields the poppies blow_  
_ Between the crosses, row on row,_  
_ That mark our place; and in the sky_  
_ The larks, still bravely singing, fly_  
_ Scarce heard amid the guns below._

He fights the tears in his eyes. Closing his eyes, he remembers McCrae, the lone physician standing beside his friend's grave. He remembers walking through the fields of Flanders, among the red poppies.

_We are the Dead. Short days ago  
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,  
Loved and were loved, and now we lie  
In Flanders fields._

He remembers standing before each Unknown Soldier's grave, and closing his eyes, sensing their spirit. _Canada honours you._

_Take up our quarrel with the foe:  
To you from failing hands we throw  
The torch; be yours to hold it high.  
If ye break faith with us who die  
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow  
In Flanders fields._

He walks forward with an elder woman to place a wreath on a stand. She is crying slightly, and her back is bent slightly by grief. He stands tall, and raises his hand in a salute. He could feel the prime minister and the Governor General's eyes on him, making sure he doesn't slip up. They had given special permission for him to take part in this ceremony for once. He walks back to his place, keeping his expression as neutral as possible, not glancing at the old veterans. He fears, perhaps that they will recognize him, or he will recognize one of them. That might be too much to handle, and he might break down.

He is still through the rest of the ceremony, watching as various people placed wreaths against the war memorial. He hears "God Save the Queen" and wonders how England is doing. Their ceremony must have ended long ago, ad he wonders if Arthur, like himself, had also walked among the soldiers.

And then, he and all the armed forces are marching past. The Ceremony is almost over. The part he wishes the most to see is coming. He takes the rear of his section, marching with a steady rhythm and gait. He has done this countless times.

As soon as the march is over, he turns back. His heart swells slightly as he sees the public already beginning to place their poppies on the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier. He, unlike the rest, knew who the soldier was. But he would never tell, because that wasn't the point of the tradition. He felt pride for his people as they paid their respects, acknowledging those they may never know. And he knows that in the future, more unknown faces will join the dead.

War is truly terrible.

His boss comes up behind him.

"Mr. Williams, are you going to place your poppy there too?"

"I've done so every year since this was created, haven't I?"

He doesn't look back at the man. His mind is locked in the past right now. The man could have been Borden, or Mackenzie King, or even Trudeau for all he knew.

Instead he leaves him behind and walks to the tomb, removing his poppy and placing it over the tomb. He bows his head for a moment, and raises his hand again in a salute. Under his breath, he whispers, "Rest in peace. God bless all of you. Canada honours every one of you."

If anyone heard, they said nothing. And though they didn't know his true identity, he imagined even they might feel the weight of the words.

He watches as his boss also walks forward. He doesn't say anything, and his boss doesn't ask him too. Each one of them knew not to disturb a nation on this day.

He walks away from the ceremony then, alone but still standing tall, as if he were marching again. He touches his heart.

_Perhaps with time, things will fade. But Canada will always remember. Do not worry, and rest in peace._

_This day shall carry forth and honour you all. _

_Lest we forget. _


End file.
